


The Heart Line

by kyrieanne



Series: Trains Series [3]
Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:57:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie and Darcy talk about a partnership and Lizzie learns to listen to her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Line

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Trains Series. This is a sequel to "The Truth About Trains" and "Midnight Trains."

“Just keep following the heartlines on your hand  
Just keep following the heartlines on your hand  
Keep it up, I know you can  
Just keep following the heartlines on your hand  
Cause I am”  
-Florence and the Machine  
*** 

Once - when Lizzie was sixteen - Lydia dragged her to a psychic. They were at the state fair and Lizzie was full on cotton candy and three beers, which she’d chugged on a dare behind the shed where her 4H boyfriend competed for best cow or whatever it was you did in 4H. (Lizzie was dating him for two reasons. One, because of the way it drove her mother crazy - You could end up a farmer’s wife, Elizabeth! - and two, because he was an amazing kisser.) The combination of sugar and alcohol did a funny thing to Lizzie. It convinced her that Lydia was so right and getting her fortune told would be the awesomest thing ever. 

The woman had drawn a thick mole on her upper lip with black eyeliner, but in the heat of her tent she had sweated it off. Now it was just a smudge. Lydia pushed Lizzie into the chair and handed the woman $10. 

“Tell her everything,” Lydia insisted, “she needs all the help she can get.” 

The woman grabbed Lizzie’s hand and it was then that Lizzie realized that this was a terrible idea. But Lydia was already humming with anticipation and above them a camping lantern swung, casting moody florescent light everywhere. 

“Your heartline is straight,” the psychic announced. 

Lizzie blinked, “So?” 

“It means your love life is totes boring.” 

“It means your head rules your heart.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Lizzie sputtered, defensive. 

The physic shrugged, “Nothing if you want a passionless life.” 

“She’s a nerd,” Lydia whispered as if announcing Lizzie were gravely ill. 

Lizzie tugged her hand back, “I don’t like you,” she’s not sure who she is saying it too.

The woman sighed, “I only read what the lines say. You are the one with the power to change your fate.” 

*** 

Filigreed light streams in high from the window and wakes Lizzie Bennet up. She stretches, yawns, and for a moment forgets where she is. She knows she isn’t in her bed, but can’t remember exactly where she actually is. She pops up and the blankets pool around her waist. And then…She got on a train with William Darcy. 

Yeah, that’s what happened. She went to the station and there he was with a job proposal and an offer to take her to his house on the coast to talk out the details. Why had she agreed to that? 

Because she hadn’t had anywhere else to go. There isn’t any need for her at home. Jane is gone. Charlotte has returned to Collins & Collins. Lydia is busy with Mary, her mother with her Bridge Club, and her father with his trains. Lizzie has six weeks till graduation and a thesis to finish, but then…? 

What? Looming over her is a giant question mark. Her future. Her plans. A place to belong. They are unfinished tracks and she got on that train with William Darcy because she wants to figure out what comes next. 

Lizzie slips out of the bed. She flexes her toes on the carpet and pads over to the window. It catches her breath - the view. The house is perched on the dunes and Lizzie’s bedroom overlooks the ocean. The waves break against the shore, grey-green, before sliding back to the sea. It smooths the sand in wide arches and a flock of seagulls skim the surface will a lazy ambition for breakfast. 

She bites her lip because it is that beautiful. There is something about the ocean that tugs forward memories of summer forays to the beach with her sisters and Charlotte. She can smell the sunscreen and feel the wind whipping through her hair. But it is more than memories. It is the ocean itself with its wide horizon - she wants to explore the length and breadth of that horizon, span the whole world, and come back again. It is the lull of tides, which soothe the frazzled parts of her. Lizzie Bennet loves the ocean. 

Her stomach growls and she steps back from the window. She finds jeans, pulls them on, and hesitates. What kind of attire was expected at a Darcy breakfast? Annoyed that she even has to think about it, Lizzie strips down and heads for the attached bathroom. She didn’t want to chance it. At Netherfield, he always came to the breakfast table fully dressed. Why would it be any different in his own home? 

In the shower - which was stupidly luxurious - Lizzie traces lines on the steamed up shower door. She watches drops of water run rivets through her lines and she remembers that time Lydia dragged her to the psychic. The woman said Lizzie’s heart line was ruled by her head. She remembers what her father said to her when he dropped her off at the train station - to not lead with her head. She remembers her reasons for getting on the damn train in the first place. It had been impulsive and without real logic. She should have gone home and had coffee with William Darcy the next day. Taking a midnight train with him felt dramatic; it felt like something Lydia would do. 

Lizzie studies the intersecting lines on the shower door. She examines her wrinkled palm trying to see if her heart line (she can’t quite remember which it is) really is so straight. Was she really passionless? Was she fated to live inside logic and reasonable choices? This year had demonstrated that all the things Lizzie always valued - facts, definitions, and her own abilities to master them - didn’t help her actually connect with the world. They hadn’t helped her see her baby sister when she was right in front of her. They hadn’t warned her about Wickham and they certainly hadn’t accounted for William Darcy. But most of all, with all her knowing - Lizzie realizes as she stares at the intersecting lines blurring in the steam - all her knowing hadn’t connected Lizzie to herself. It couldn’t tell her what was next. 

*** 

Darcy jumps when he hears Lizzie’s gasp. She appears in the doorway to the dining room. He looks up from his IPad to catch her shocked expression. 

He stands, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and gestures toward the chair opposite him. He rounds the table and holds it out for her as she sinks down into it. She is dressed in a blue sweater and jeans. He recognizes the sweater from her videos, but doesn’t comment on it. 

“You’re in sweat pants,” she stammers. 

Darcy folds himself back into his chair. He tugs on his t-shirt. It is a worn Harvard diving team shirt from the single season he spent on the team, “I’m sorry,” he stammers, “if you expected something else.” 

“It’s just at Netherfield you were always…dressed for breakfast,” she stares into the bottom of her coffee cup. 

“This is my home,” he tries to explain. He isn’t sure if he should apologize or not. She doesn’t seem offended as much as she is just surprised and Darcy likes the idea that he has surprised Lizzie Bennet in any way. 

“It’s just different. Nice,” she exhales, “Wow. I’m inarticulate before coffee.” 

Darcy bites back a smile. He passes her the plate of scrambled eggs and points to the newspapers Mrs. Trusk lined up at the end of the table, “There is an article in the Post about new media in publishing. I thought you might find it interesting.” 

It is that easy, Darcy thinks, for them to settle into silence. Lizzie helps herself to food and for a moment he watches her over the top of his Ipad. He wants to ask her how she slept, whether her room is comfortable, and a dozen other questions, but they all sound so formal in his mind. Instead, he opts for something simpler. Silence. They sip their coffee, eat breakfast, and trade the paper and his Ipad across the table, murmuring, “Here you might like this….” 

It is something he could get used to. 

*** 

“If you’d like, we can talk about the proposal,” Darcy reappears in the dining room. After breakfast, he’d excused himself to shower. 

Now Lizzie is on her third cup of coffee and almost all the way through the New York Times. It was an unexpected treat to linger over breakfast and read a paper. Darcy cued up a few articles on his IPad and passed it to her before he left to get ready. Lizzie was tempted to poke around on his tablet - to tap the Mail icon and see what really filled William Darcy’s day. But she didn’t and when he reappears it takes her by surprise. She’d been so immersed what she was reading that she jumps when he speaks. 

“Your proposal?” 

“For our partnership.” 

She notes the way he says it. It is never a job offer, but a partnership. 

“That would be nice.” 

“Do you like the ocean?” he asks. 

*** 

When they get to the beach, Lizzie sheds her shoes. She rolls up her jeans until they stick mid-calf. Darcy hesitates on the edge of the boardwalk. His leather loafers looks comical in the sand. 

“Come on,” Lizzie jerks her head toward the tide. She doesn’t wait for him, but marches on toward the surf. The fact that he follows her thrills her and she tries to tuck the feelings away. He said he bought the company and saved Lydia for personal honor. He didn’t do it for her. She has to remember this. 

Darcy falls into step beside her and Lizzie has to force herself to only steal one glance at his bare feet and the khakis rolled up mid-calf. They start out with no real direction. The house is behind them, tall and proud, white clap board, with not one but two turrets, and a wrap around porch. Seagrass waves in the wind and she has to tuck her hair behind her hears to keep it off her face. 

Lizzie says the first thing that comes to mind, “What is this place?” 

“The house belonged to my mother’s family. It is her childhood home.” 

“Do you come here often?” 

“Not as often as I like, but Gigi and I normally take part of the summer here. This year I went to Netherfield instead.” 

“And Mrs. Tursk? Are you rich enough to be able to afford a full time housekeeper on your occasional summer home?” 

Darcy bows his head, “Mrs. Tursk lives in San Francisco. I employ her part-time to help keep our apartment in the city running and make sure we eat something other than takeout.” 

“I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business,” Lizzie says in a rush. 

“It’s quite alright.” 

But she knows it isn’t alright. Most people are private about their money and it would make sense that Darcy would be even more private. Lizzie swings her arms. She asks the next question because it lies in the middle of the road. It is a boulder blocking their path and there is no going around it. 

“How much did it cost you? To buy the company. To help my sister.” 

Darcy stills. He tucks his chin and Lizzie stops alongside him. She hovers just on the edge of his personal space. 

“I don’t want you to feel obliged to me, Lizzie,” he says quietly, “I want us to be friends. Partners.” 

Why did those words make her heart sink? Why would hearing him say friends turn her stomach over? 

“I want that too,” she says. 

He stares at her, “So you want to be friends?” 

“Yes,” she wrinkles her nose. Friends doesn’t seem like the right word. She wants more than that, but she isn’t ready to voice it yet. She doesn’t know how to put words to what she feels around William Darcy. It is more than friend, but she isn’t quite sure what to call it. “Do you?” she asks. 

She would swear she can almost see a smile on his face, “It would be my pleasure, Lizzie Bennet.” 

There is a moment, when she meets his eye as he says it, that Lizzie is sure she is missing something. But Lizzie decides to soldier on and nudges Darcy with her shoulder, “Now let’s talk about this proposal.” 

***

William Darcy doesn’t lose time easily. He is always working - spinning out a new campaign idea or shifting around meetings in his head. Even when he is talking to someone else, Darcy usually finds his mind wandering to another pressing concern. Skiing or cycling sometime free his mind, but that was only if he is alone. 

Never had he lost time by spending it with another person. But that is what happens when he and Lizzie walk the beach. They fall into a fast paced, easy conversation about Domino. He finds himself explaining his thoughts without thinking. He doesn’t have to practice the words before they come out. Lizzie asks everything he would expect a potential partner to ask: intended audience, financial viability, and long term goals. But then she asks the one thing that no one has asked. No one on the development team or marketing department. Not a single other partner they considered or even Fitz or Gigi. 

“Why do you want to do this?” 

“Excuse me?” Darcy stops. They’ve gone a long way from the house by now. The April sun is hot on their necks, but it is still early spring and the ocean breeze sends a shiver down his back. 

“Why do you want to do this?” Lizzie turns and faces him. With one hand she shields her eyes from the sun as she looks up at him. 

“I think it is a great opportunity…” 

“You’ve said that already,” she cocks her head, “I get the marketing. I’m asking because I want to know what is in it for you.” 

“In it for me?” 

She shrugs, “I’m not going to pretend that my name is a big deal, but if I’m going to attach my name to Domino I want to know what stake you have in it.” 

“It’s my company.” 

“I know that, but why Domino? Why pursue this application? Why bring me in?” 

“I thought I explained adequately why we are excited about you and your story telling abilities,” Darcy stutters. He’s unsure what more she wants from him. 

She smiles, “You’ve been extremely flattering.” 

“I’ve been honest.” 

“Fine,” she concedes and then exhales, “but I want to know why this is personal for you because if we do this it would be personal for me. I’m just starting out and while I’m not CEO of some company I do have options. If we do this I would be choosing you and Domino and Pemberley Digital because I believe in the partnership. It would be personal for me.” 

“I know.” 

“So, tell me why.” 

He starts the sentence twice before he finally gets it out, “Because I have trouble communicating. Because I don’t always express myself well.” 

“And Domino is a communications application?” 

“Domino is just one part of a much bigger why for me,” Darcy starts walking again, but Lizzie stays where she is. He paces, hands shoved in pockets, and the ocean breaks over his feet in the wet sand, but he doesn’t notice, “I’ve always been on the outside looking in. My father was a lot like Gigi - gregarious and energetic. People were drawn to him and his charm. A whole room would change just by him walking in it. I was not gifted with those particular skills and when I first took over Pemberley Digital I thought I could never do what my father did. I could never build a company because I was just too reserved. I relied too much on my head and not enough on my gut.” 

“I know the feeling,” she says. 

This startles Darcy and he stops. He looks at Lizzie and he can’t read her expression. She looks pained and he wants to tuck his hand in the crook of her neck, tip her head toward his, and ask what it is he can do to make it alright. But there is three feet between them and a partnership and a plan. Darcy has a plan and it does not include long confessional walks on the beach. 

He clears his throat, “Domino is an experiment. It is personal for me because I struggle to connect just by being me. Before you I was proud and put distance between myself and people because I thought so much of the world was trivial. I was an ass,” he glances at Lizzie when he says it, but her expression has slipped into something he isn’t sure how to read. He keeps going because with Lizzie Bennet he wants to be honest. Whatever they have, he wants it to be honest. “But my attitude was just a cover for my own flaws. My inability to do what my father and Gigi and you seem so capable of doing. I am trying to remedy that and Domino is part of that effort,” he swallows, “Does that answer your question, Lizzie?” 

“Yes. It does. Thank you.” 

Unconsciously they start walking back toward the house. After a few minutes, Darcy screws up the courage to tip an eyebrow and lean toward her, “So have I scared you off from taking the partnership with my answer?” 

She tucks her hair behind her ears, but the wind picks it up and blows strands across her forehead. 

“No. Your answer convinced me,” she smiles, “But I’m going to start my own company.” 

“You are?” 

“Pemberley Digital won’t be contracting with Lizzie Bennet, vlogger. I have plans beyond just creating content for Domino and I want to be able to do that. They’ll have to contract with…” she bites her lip, “Name to be decided. I guess I still have some things to think of.” 

“How about Three Sisters?” Darcy offers. 

“Three Sisters Studios,” Lizzie grins and wrinkles her nose, “Does that sound pretentious? I don’t have studios. Right now its me and my camera.” 

Darcy shrugs, “The first fact I learned about running my own company is that boldness covers a multitude of other things. Three Sisters Studios has a name to fit its potential.” 

Lizzie gives a little laugh, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” 

“Believe in me so easily?” 

“Anyone who truly saw you would believe in you.” 

It takes her a minute to soak up his words and in that time they come into view of the house. Darcy, who had never struggled with silence, finds himself wishing he could fill it now because it was her silences that scared him. In her silences, Darcy wants to read every hope he has. 

“Three Sisters is a Chekhov play,” Lizzie finally says, “which makes me like it even more.” 

“There are virtues to reading Russian literature,” he smiles. This makes Lizzie laugh a full throated laugh. It isn’t a simper or giggle like so many of the women Darcy is used too. It is a belly laugh, something that rises up from her core, and it causes him to consider abandoning his plan and telling her everything right there. 

“Well it must be fate then.” 

He smiles, “Must be.” 

*** 

When they get back to the house Darcy apologizes - he needs to jump in a conference call - he seems bewildered by how much time they spent on the beach. 

“The whole morning got away from me,” he checks his pocket watch twice, “I never lose time like that.” 

Mrs. Trusk meets them in the foyer, hands him a coffee, and shoos him away. 

“We will be in the kitchen if you need us,” she calls out over her shoulder and tugs Lizzie along behind her. 

In daylight, Lizzie is able to form a fuller opinion of Darcy’s keeper. She is older than Lizzie’s mother with closely cropped silver hair, but there is something young about her. She wears skinny jeans, a pale green sweater, and canvas boat shoes. She hums as she clears off the island, stacking papers, and patting the stool Lizzie is to take. 

“How do you take your coffee, dear?” she drops the stacks of papers onto the kitchen table and folds her hands on the counter. 

“You don’t have to make me coffee,” Lizzie stammers, “I can do it.” 

Mrs. Trusk arches an eyebrow, “Not with the fancy expresso machine he insists we keep. Now tell me your order and I’ll make two.” 

As Mrs. Trusk fiddles with a machine with more buttons than Lizzie’s television remote, Lizzie glances around the old kitchen. 

It is old. It isn’t granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. It is black and white checkered tile floors and butcher clock counters marked with all sorts of dings and dents. The appliances are an unfortunate bisque and, except for the fancy coffee maker, everything is at couple decades old. 

“Darcy said he and Gigi usually spend summers here,” Lizzie says. 

“Yes, they did up until this summer. This summer it was just me and Gigi.” 

“That’s why he came to Netherfield,” Lizzie puts the pieces together as she says it, “he was giving his sister space because she was mad. Because of him…,” She swallows. She doesn’t want to say that wretched man’s name. She’s sorry she even brought it up. 

Mrs. Trusk raises an eyebrow, “He told you about that?” 

“Yes, unfortunately I can - um- relate,” Lizzie struggles to find the words. She doesn’t want to talk about it, but she feels like she needs to explain to this woman that she is more than just a business partner. She and William Darcy have a history. They are…friends. 

It feels like a woefully inadequate word to describe what they are, but it will have to do. There is no other word Lizzie is ready to assign to them and she has no indication his feelings are still the same. He told her he bought the company for his own personal honor and not for her. Lizzie has to take him at his word. 

The older woman watches her and Lizzie is sure every emotion she is feeling plays right across her face right now. The expresso machine beeps and the tension is broken. Mrs. Trusk hands Lizzie her cup and leans back against the counter. Her mouth quirks up on one side and Lizzie isn’t sure why. 

“So tell me your story, Elizabeth.” 

*** 

Darcy finds Lizzie in the kitchen after his conference call. She is bent over a book with Mrs. Trusk. He stands and watches the two of them on stools for a moment. Lizzie curves over the book and leans on a single elbow. Her hair, tangled by the wind, sways over her shoulder and he thinks about what it would be like to tug his fingers through it and touch his lips to the smooth white column of her neck. To feel the flutter of her pulse and the indent of her collarbone. 

“You’re done!” Lizzie says brightly and knocks Darcy out of his daydream. 

“I am.” 

“We were just picking out a recipe to try for dinner,” Lizzie explains, “This cookbook is great. I love handmade ones. Jane collects them and I like reading the notes people add to recipies. This one has the best commentary. Note to self: never underestimate yeast. Will rise and eat counters if unattended,” Lizzie reads, “I love it.” 

Darcy glances at the red cloth binder, worn and frayed on the edges and tucks his chin, “That one was my mother’s. She wrote everything down or she would forget, ” he sees Lizzie’s eyes widen and he tries to move quickly past the truth. He makes his voice bright, “Which recipe did you pick?” 

“She has excellent taste,” Mrs. Trusk says, “she picked out the crab cakes.” 

“That sounds delicious.”

“I’m going to get going,” Mrs. Trusk tucks the cookbook under her arm, “If you two are going to eat this tonight then I need to go to the market. Lunch is in the fridge.” 

“You don’t need to go to any trouble,” Lizzie slips off the stool, “Really. I just said they would be nice. I didn’t really mean...”

But the older woman just pats Lizzie’s arm and smiles, “Make sure he doesn’t skip to dessert first. He loves dessert.” And with that she slips out the back door and they are alone in the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie says, “She pulled out the cookbook and then she asked and I don’t know what just happened.” 

Darcy leans his elbows on the island and tries hard to bite back a smile, “It’s her job. Don’t worry about it. She enjoys taking care of people.” 

Lizzie slips back onto her stool and Darcy is too aware of how close they are - six inches maybe - and how little space he’d have to cross to feel her arm against his. 

“She seems to be part of your family.” 

“In many ways she is,” he says, “She came on when our parents died. Gigi was twelve and I was twenty. I transferred from Harvard to Stanford, but between school and Pemberley I didn’t have enough time to give to my sister. Besides, I was inadequate for a teenage girl. Gigi needed a woman in some capacity. Mrs. Trusk came on and I’ve been in her debt ever since. Without her I might have had no choice but allow my aunt Catherine to step in.” 

“I don’t think you were ever inadequate,” Lizzie rests her chin on her palm, “I think you were great for Gigi.” 

“Thank you, but I had no idea what I was doing.” 

“You were smart enough to get help when you needed it.” 

Darcy straightens. He doesn’t want to wander too far into the past, “Are you ready for lunch? I thought we could brainstorm and eat at the same time.” 

Lizzie grins, “Only if we get to start with dessert.” 

*** 

It really is one of the most invigorating afternoons Lizzie can remember having. 

Darcy pulls out a chocolate cheese cake and two forks. He insists on opening a bottle of fruity pink dessert wine that Mrs. Trusk left in the fridge. 

“To celebrate our partnership and the future of your company,” he holds up a glass and Lizzie clinks her’s against his. They each take a sip and Lizzie smarts at the bubbles tickling her throat. She laughs at the face Darcy makes. He looks perturbed. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t finish this,” he puts the glass down, “It is barely wine.” 

“It’s a dessert wine.” 

“It’s…pink.” 

Lizzie pours his glass into her own, “More for me then.” 

He pulls a beer from the fridge and pops the cap off. Lizzie turns the bottle and reads the label. She raises an eyebrow.

“What?” 

“Of course you would only drink locally brewed lager. Always the hipster.” 

“I resent that term.” 

“All true hipsters do.” 

He tips an eyebrow, “And nerds need to assign labels to everything that moves.” 

She can’t help it. She throw her head back and laughs. 

They eat the cheesecake straight from the pan. Darcy doesn’t even bother to cut it. He pushes it toward her after he takes the first bite, “Trust me,” he says, “it’s like heaven.” 

And it is. Lizzie alternates between cheese cake and wine while she listens to Darcy talk about his content ideas for Domino. He explains the Sanditon project and Lizzie realizes how much he uses his hands when he speaks. She likes watching him like this. His whole body exhales - his shoulders lose their rigidity, his face softens, and his hands become an extension of his words. They gesture and point and sometimes touch her arm. Lizzie finishes her glass of wine and pours herself another one. Darcy opens another beer. They eat half the cheesecake without noticing and somewhere into the second half they move beyond scribbling on the back of a take out menu and sit side by side at the kitchen island with their lap tops out. They take turns showing one another videos, tossing back possible ideas for content, and talking over one another. 

“Do you really think it’s possible to adapt a novel into a vlog?” 

“But what about instructional content that used Domino as the narrative device?” 

“Domino pushes audience engagement to another level so we could pitch it like that to a brand.” 

“What about shaping Domino into a personal app? Pitch it as an extension of your social media activity. Aggregate everything through one feed.” 

At the bottom of the bottle of wine, Lizzie isn’t sure which ideas are her own and which started with Darcy. The counters are littered with notes scribbled on legal pads, Domino projection charts, and remnants of a chocolate cheese cake. Darcy tips back what has to be his fourth or fifth beer. His shirt sleeves are rolled up past the elbow and there is a tuft of hair askew. He runs his hands through his hair when he is thinking, Lizzie realizes. His hair is softer than she first thought. Not that she’s touched it, but he hasn’t shellacked it into place with product today and that makes it softer. Simple. At ease. 

“I like your idea about social media engagement…” Darcy finishes typing as he says it, but trails off when he looks up and sees Lizzie. 

She is staring at him. There is no hiding that and she can feel the burn in her cheeks start. Everything is fuzzy from the alcohol, but Lizzie knows she isn’t supposed to be looking at him like this. Like he is this different, fascinating person that she is just starting to see. Like she is just discovering him and what is there just floors her. 

“Lizzie,” he licks his lips. 

“Yes?” 

“You’re looking at me.” 

“I am,” she swallows and Lizzie can practically hear her heart screaming. She can feel its beat in her ears and the blush has spread down her neck now and she burns. He is only a few inches away and the wine has made her braver. Braver than she would ever else be. 

“Lizzie.” 

She likes the way he says her name. She can’t describe why it is different from how other people say it except maybe the tenor. He always goes up at the end as if he is always asking a question, always on the brink of possibility when it came to her, Lizzie Bennet. And all she would need to do is close the gap between them, press her lips to his, and all the possibility dwelling between them could happen. Who knows what would come next? It wouldn’t matter because his lips would be soft and she would finally know what his hands feel like on her shoulders, pulling on her back, and tugging her into the space of his body. She would finally know if what comes next is William Darcy. All she had to do was follow the line of her heart…

“Lizzie, I think we should stop.” 

And like that something snaps. The swimming feeling in her hear and her chest is gone and she can feel her own breath in the back of her throat as she exhales. 

“Stop. Yes,” she stares at her hands. 

Darcy bends his head, “It’s been hours and all you’ve had is dessert. Mrs. Trusk was right. You need real food.” He gets up and opens the refrigerator.

“I think…” Lizzie slips from the stool, “I just need a nap. Is that alright?” 

He has two plates in hand, but stops a few feet between her and the fridge, “Of course.” 

Her face is still burning and she just wants to get out of the room. How could she have been so foolish to think this was anything but a partnership? 

“I’m going to go. Tell Mrs. Trusk to knock when dinner is ready.” 

Darcy and the kitchen are a blur as she escapes out of the room, upstairs, and behind the safety of her bedroom door. When it clicks shut she lets herself tremble. She isn’t even sure what she is feeling. Its not like anything happened, but more like the possibility of something happening was just pulled out from beneath her. She presses a palm to her breast bone and feels the steady thump, thump, thump of her heart. She touches her fingers to her lips and realizes something terrible. 

She is in love with William Darcy. She is in love with him and he is gone. 

*** 

In his office, William Darcy drops his head between his knees and groans. He sits in his desk chair and wishes the spinning would stop. He’d only had a few beers, but between that and the way Lizzie looked at him…its like the floor had switched places with the ceiling. 

And then he told her to stop. 

He groans as he thinks of it. He’d panicked. There is no other explanation. Her eyes had been so round and her voice so light. And Darcy almost came undone right there, but then she just kept repeating Yes and he remembered the bottle of wine and her empty stomach. Lizzie Bennet was not a woman who just agreed like that. She wasn’t a yes woman. She was drunk or on her way there. He just didn’t want it to happen that way. 

He has a plan. A plan to set them on even ground. A plan continue to become the kind of man thatis worthy of Lizzie Bennet’s estimation. He is not done making amends. 

But waiting may be the death of him. 

He considers going upstairs and knocking on her door. He considers telling her everything: that he did it for her, that he still feels the way he did in the fall, and all he wants is to hold her. He believes they belong together. He wants to be her equal and her partner. He takes three steps toward the door before he remembers that he isn’t ready. He isn’t ready to put that out there. His heart isn’t ready to risk her refusal. Right now he just wants to be in her orbit. He needs to earn access to the rest. He needs to truly be her friend. 

So he sits back down. He picks up his phone, thumbs through the contacts, and finds the one number he’s never called. Gigi got it for him, but he’s held onto it because it was supposed to be the second phase. The first phase had been to convince Lizzie to partner with Pemberley Digital. It was supposed to give them time to find that comfortable back and forth that started at Pemberley. It was supposed to steady the ground beneath him. Not upend him completely. 

But nothing Lizzie Bennet ever went according to plan. 

So Darcy presses call and holds the phone up to his ear. It takes two rings and then a tentative hello. 

Bold covers a multitude of sins, he remembers. 

“Hello Lydia,” he says, “I have something I would like to talk to you about.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more parts - not sure how many it'll take to tell the story I've got stuck in my head.


End file.
